Admire From Afar
by Nevermore.Rose
Summary: She melted my heart of ice, and yet, I yearn for it to be the way it was.Because now, it can be wounded.' Infatuation can murder when one knows they can never, ever be together. Oneshot, DHr Draco's POV. Rated T to be safe. My first fanfiction, be gentle!


**Disclaimer:** I own , nothing, nada , zilch. All copyright belongs to the fabulous J.K. Rowling, and without her I could never complete this piece of fiction, basically because I would have no characters or original plot, which would make quite a boring story to read, wouldn't it?

A/N: Ok sooooo……ehehehe……HI! Basically, this story was written in the last day or two when I was really bored, and for me, didn't actually take much thought. In most D/Hr , I've noticed that it's either from Hermione's POV, or simply in third person. Often, they show Draco as mysterious and unreadable, and she is often never certain of why he is the way he is. In most of the stories with some of his POV, he also only begins his interest in her sexually, which then progresses to love. So I decided to write a story from Draco's POV (which this is, if you were to lazy to guess) which features his point of view, how he really feels behind those cold unreadable eyes. And to top it all off, I tried to make it so he fell in love with her without reason or warning, and not in a sexual manner…….Wow, that was rather long, eh, oh well. It's my first Harry Potter fanfiction, so please review and tell me how I did(try to be gentle , please)

**ALRIGHT SO, ON TO THE STORY!**

I never would have believed it. This can not be happening, beauty is simply not supposed to be found in these….these vermin. A Mudblood is absolutely no better then a dirty animal. Hell, they were criminals the day they left their muggle-whore's stomach.

I repeat these words in my head over and over when I'm in full sense…..when I'm far enough from, _her_, to think properly.

However, when she comes in view, all thought escapes my mind, and my brain swirls into an uncharted abyss. She is the living embodiment of beauty. She is beautiful, not "hot" or "sexy" or whatever the hell you want to call it, take your pick. She does not posses the obvious beauty that a hormonal school boy would drool over. She is rather a more unusual and rare loveliness, like an unknown flower found while picking through the commonest of meadows.

I should know, I've had too many of these easy apparent looks to count, that they had drawn dull to me. They are more like the daisies that grow rampant everywhere, with their overuse of makeup and tiny outfits to flaunt their assets. She does not need any of it.

Never once have I seen her cake on anything. In fact, she doesn't wear absolutely any makeup on a regular basis. Yet her face glows like no other.

Her sweet cinnamon eyes need no surrounding highlights to appear with their brilliance, they need no additives to look as they always do, fully alert and awake, full of love and compassion that a Malfoy has never tasted. They are like open books, the easiest to read with any emotions.

I often find myself wondering how she can live like that, wearing her heart on her wrist, allowing herself to show everything she's feeling and not having to worry about how others will use them to destroy her. But I suppose some fears and formalities must be abolished when you're a Gryffindor.

Her bushy hair which I once found grotesque is now a vision of absolute loveliness. Such untamed brown locks, which shine gold in the morning sun, perfectly framing her face must put even the lovely Aphrodite to shame.

Her peachy skin suiting her nothing short of perfectly, her soft pale pink lips looking like those of angels. It's the start of the year, and this obsession has gone on too long for my liking.

I don't know when this started.

When this obsession took hold of me, but it did so slowly, as I remember. Like the way winter slowly melts away into a full-bloomed spring.

The infamous Draco Malfoy should not be worshipping a Mudblood in secret. And I do stress the "secret". This could never be found out. I would be kicked out of the house for even thinking her to be human, much less with my silent praises that will never reach her ears. Two years is far too far.

All the insults have been to keep my appearance, to allow me to appear strong, while inside all I feel like doing is falling to my knees. But Malfoys are nothing if not for our talent at masking any emotion coursing through us, like they are unwanted parasites.

So I use my natural gifts. Normally, I just cover anything with my usual smirk, which I can tell only nicks the ego she has acquired from those two idiots. However, there has been countless times where she has truly gotten under my skin.

She can do that……..and that is one of the few things that frighten me. Potter and Weasley can say anything, and all their insults deflect off me weightlessly, yet she can always create the perfect sentence, bind the most flammable words, that when they are thrown out they shatter my armor of invincibility.

She is my Goddess, yet for it she is my mortal enemy. Potter may publicly be the one of most annoyance to me, but she, she is what I love and loath.

I'm watching her now. She's standing in the middle of Platform 9 ¾ , the burgundy train to her right side, skimming her letter, most likely to check if she has all of her supplies.

The sunlight illuminating her face, the way it pours from the window around her makes her shine brighter than anything I have ever seen, making her a vision of beauty, a Goddess.

And I'm in the shadow, my face around one of the beams used to support the roof, the flat of one of my feet pressed firmly against it, my arms crossed, trying to look casual as I stare in awe of her. Suddenly, the whistle is blown, and a conductor, wand pressed against his throat as so that it projects through the platform, screams "ALL ABOARD!" and she shoots her head up, unluckily landing on me.

And quickly, my razor sharp reflexes transform my face from a look of calm appreciation to one of utter loathing. Apparently my acting is impeccable, because the second I do, she narrows her eyes at me, angrily gripping her truck and storming off, muttering to herself about something along the lines of "Insufferable Malfoy, starting on it seconds into the first day…."

I chuckle to myself, and privately thank God that she was unaware of my previous glances. I follow her with my eyes, and see that she is boarding the train, with no sight of the Boy-who-got-a-lucky-break and Weasel.

Then I remember.

She is the only one returning to school this year. I remember overhearing it. Potter and Weasely dropped out to go chase after something or another, while leaving only her to her education. I always knew she would pull something like this, books always came first with that one, Lord knows that she wouldn't ever give it up, she's probably thinking that at least one of them should go through another year of school, most likely to get some sort of edge on whatever they're looking for.

This is excellent news to me, those two lunatics should stay away for an eternity. _Of course, I'll have to met them again, for one reason or another, _I think to myself, as I pull up my robe on sleve to reveal the Dark Mark I received over the summer, although I was unable to achieve my initiation test.

I drop it down, and grab up my truck, leaving it with storage, and then retreating to the train. I plop down into my usual compartment, farthest away from the Gryffindor scum as I can get.

I try to obscure Crabb and Goyle's aggravating grunting and Pansy's shrill laughter, and try to drown myself in my own thought. After looking at the floor I think to myself that it's a miracle that I'm back here, after failing to murder Dumbledore, though I know Snape's fate must not be of the same. I might have to actually work this year. I feel something tap on my leg.

Pansy.

Dear bloody God, can't this girl take a hint? I don't like her… I'm not infatuated with the slut, I've practically grown out of that "phase" as I've heard it called by Muggles.

She bats her heavily mascra-clupped eyelashes at me. I give her a look of pure disgust and turn away. She pouts to herself and looks away. Thank God.

Then she taps me again.

I ignore it.

Again.

Ignore.

Again.

Ignore.

This continues for about ten minutes, when I jump out of my chair, startling her. Good. I say, obvious annoyance in my voice "I'm going to the bathroom" I see Pansy getting up, with a mischievous look plastered on her face . Hell, she thinks I mean for _that?_

"No Pansy, _alone_" I walk down the hall. Obviously, I really don't want to go back. I look from side to side as I walk through the small cramped hallway, looking for an empty compartment. I look and look. It seems quite afew of the little muggle offspring have arrived given that more than half of the empty slots, seeing as only a few eleven year old have been added to the Pureblood family trees which I had studied so intently over the summer, to take my mind away from all of the absolute terror of the events last year.

Finally, I find it, the red door closed, and the lights off. I look in, and see no one, so I stroll in, closing the door behind me, and collapse backwards onto the soft couch-like emerald green bench behind me.

I look up, and suddenly, I freeze.

_She's_ here.

My beauty, my Golden Goddess of the Sun, flawlessly changing to a glowing silver celestial grace, the soft moonlight spilling over her from a side window. It accentuating her brilliant features.

Her hair almost looked a silver-white in this lighting, though the brown peaks through casually. Her lips glowing like a vision of loveliness. I found it almost impossible to believe that most found her plain.

To me, it was as if that muggle tale of the ugly duckling had come true, and no one seemed to notice.

No one except Weasley.

That matted red-hair blocking my line of vision everyday last year as I watched her, he was desperate for some speck of attention. It was obvious that he was falling to, for that girl, maybe just as hard as me, though we were extremely different in our approach, or could you even call ogling an approach?

I look back at her. Was there anything that made her ugly? I see her sleeping soundly infront of me, her head collapsed over an open book, reminding me once more of her 130 grade point average.

She is everything. She is of stunning beauty, remarkably intellectual, uncharitably loyal, and most of all, and defiantly most frightening of all, she has enough courage to be herself, always, never having to play a role assigned, never doing anything other that what is right, never having to succumb to another's will, and never concerning herself with what others think.

And that scared me. More than anything.

That this girl, in the lowest of social standings, could be so headstrong and overconfident in her own ability, and that I, of full rank in society, with all the splendors of the world, could not.

It is what made me loathe and hate her for eternity.

And, as I have come to realize, almost above all else, it is what made me come to love her.

Yes, _love_ her.

I'm drowning in a pool of warm water, full of her face, her hair, her smile, and yet I never want to come back up. I don't remember when it started, and I don't know when it will end.

But it must end soon. Because this will be my demise if it doesn't. No matter how much of a Goddess I see in front of me, she will always be born of the wrong blood. There is no way I can change that.

So I must live with this as if it was nothing.

As if every time I see her speak with another man, that I am not affected, although I know that it will only grown more rage inside me, and another part of my heart will melt away.

I must hide every smile that escapes my lips when I watch her study, or speak or laugh.

I must continue to act as though nothing is happening when I hear her laugh, or see her smile, even though I know I will never be able to make such an angel as her do the same, which will break me even more.

I must be unaffected. It must be done, it is my duty.

Most importantly, she may never know of what I think of her. For that will be the end of me.

I've been watching her now, a slight smile on my lips, as her peaceful form rests in front of me.

How I wish I could hold her close to me, and never let go. But I will never.

Suddenly, she stirs. I must not be seen here alone so. I quickly get up , and with a swish of my robes, I exit.

I look back, while walking briskly back to the more Slytherin dominated part of the train. I see her sleep worn head, in all of it's beauty, poke out from the cabin door, and I see those beautiful eyes land on me. I almost stop, slowing my pace down considerably. Our gazes are locked.

And for the first time in my life, I feel that she can see through all of my heavy guards, using my eyes as gateway to my very essence, seeing everything inside of me.

And I know, someway or somehow that she understands, and that she knows _everything_ I've been hiding.

She knows.

I must stop this.

I turn my head casually and walk away at a slow, steady pace, looking calm, collected and casual.

However, in side I am completely terrified. I should have known that she could discover how to read through all my facades into the real self I have hidden for so long.

But I will act like nothing ever happened. Anything she says I will deny.

Because she is the most amazing and most destructive thing to me. She is the radiant assassin that will do me in for good. I return to my empty cabin. She melted my heart of ice, and yet, I yearn for it to be the way it was.

Because now, it can be wounded.

And it is being killed, as the most painful death I could ask for. At the end of this, it will be obliterated.

Hermione Granger will be my Beautiful Destruction.

So I would rather Admire from Afar.


End file.
